Opportunity
by Lady Zoisite
Summary: There might be a story for Hanna waiting in Jayne's scars. Jayne's happy to share. PunkVerse AU, Jayne and Hanna.


They've been together for about three months-well, _together_ together, it's actually been quite a bit longer than that, but now Hanna's got a toothbrush in the bathroom-before Hanna says something about the scars.

Not _those_ scars. He's still got a lot of processing to do before he'll ever be okay with talking about that, even with Jayne. Jayne's scars, though, those are different-there are seven of them, long and short, some crossing each other. They converge and weave until they form a silvery web right in the middle of his spine. Right over his heart. Hanna's never gotten up the courage to ask Jayne about them. He thinks that Jayne might feel the same way he himself does, and he can respect that.

They're curled up together in bed, sometime after midnight. Hanna doesn't always like to cuddle, but the apartment is a little cool in the winter damp and Jayne's warmth cocoons him in a really comforting way that he's tired enough to accept. He thinks maybe Jayne's asleep already; his chest moves in a calm rhythm in sync with soft exhalations into Hanna's tousled mohawk. Hanna lets one of his hands wander up Jayne's back, tracing over the shallow scratches he's just left there. He'll have to clean those for Jayne first thing tomorrow. They won't scar, but the scabbing can be kind of gross. Jayne never seems to mind.

Jayne doesn't react to Hanna's restless fingertips until they stray inward, following a scratch, towards the center of his back. Hanna's seen the marks often enough, knows the pattern of spidery lines, and of course he's touched them-but not with purpose. Hanna's hands still as the lithe muscle under them tenses up just the slightest bit and the regular motion under his head stops. Jayne's not asleep.

Hanna yanks his hands back a little too quickly and shoves them into his armpits. "Erh. Sorry. Sorry, man, wasn't thinking. Go back to sleep."

Jayne's calm breathing resumes as he pulls Hanna just that little bit closer, warm arms resettling comfortably. "It's okay, Hanna. They're not painful, you know."

Hanna doesn't reply to that, a bit apprehensive. After a few more minutes of silence during which he can tell Jayne hasn't fallen asleep, curiosity wins out and he lets his hands drift back to where they were.

Jayne's chin tilts on top of Hanna's head. Hanna thinks that maybe he's smiling. His arms don't move from their easy ( _they fit so well_ , Hanna's mind supplies idly) coil around Hanna.

"You can ask about them, Hanna. It's nothing I can't talk about."

Hanna has to think about it for another minute. He hadn't really prepared to actually say anything, but now that Jayne's offering...

"Um. There are kind of a lot of them. Well, not a lot, but yanno, more than one!" Way to sound like an idiot child, Hanna. Swallow, try again. "Um, it was a knife, right? A...few times?"

Jayne's still pretty relaxed as Hanna lightly traces his back, a scar here, a scratch there. Fingers walking restlessly down his spine. Is he leaning into it a bit? Hanna doesn't go slow and contemplative very often.

"Yes. I was attacked from behind." Jayne's voice is perfectly even, as though giving a statement in court. That can mean that things are fine, or not, with Jayne. Hanna listens.

"We never caught the assailant, so we don't know for certain, but the doctors said it was a knife with a single straight edge. Seven wounds total. There was a punctured lung and a graze to the heart."

Jayne hasn't tensed up and his voice is still the radio-smooth cadence, but Hanna hears the brittleness beneath the calm, matter-of-fact report. He rubs tiny circles at the small of Jayne's back, hopes Jayne finds that comforting. He's grateful for the warmth of Jayne's arms.

"That's...wow. Jayne, you're a tough cookie."

Well that sounded kind of stupid. But when has Hanna ever known what to say in situations like this? He should have just kept his hands to himself.

Before Hanna can berate himself too much, Jayne actually chuckles a bit. "I'm a cop. It's a job hazard. Not that anyone ever expects anything to happen to them. But I was lucky. They said it was a miracle."

Hanna settles his arms around Jayne's waist, encouraged by his laid-back response. Jayne's always so _cool_.

"Do you know if it was job-related, like, a grudge or something? Or just some random wacko?"

Jayne's shoulders move up and down, a laconic shrug. "We never did find out. I was off-duty, walking to the subway from a drink with some friends after work. I don't remember it very clearly, but I ended up in an alley. It's just lucky that someone noticed me." One hand kneads lightly at the base of Hanna's spine, the rest of him still as stone.

Hanna ponders, trying to think about it in dispassionate detective terms, distract himself from the surge of horror and the awful mental images. Some random crazy just decided to jump a man-a cop carrying a gun, at that-on his way home and stab him a bunch of times in the back. A junkie mugging with an extra helping of violence, or something more specific? He's seen enough fucked-up behavior from all kinds of fucked-up people and enough plain weird shit from his job that it's not really that strange. But the thought of that kind of person having something against Jayne, still being out there on the streets...Hanna shivers despite their warm embrace.

"That's pretty scary, man." An understatement, but it's all he can think of that doesn't sound morbid.

Jayne shifts in his arms, tension Hanna hadn't noticed dissolving into the mattress. His voice has gone soft, lost most of the crystal edge. "It was. Is. But I was okay. And as it turns out, I was up for a transfer to another department. My recovery delayed that, and then when I came back on duty the powers that be decided I was needed more here. So," he pauses for breath, and Hanna's pretty sure he's smiling again. Jayne really is tough. And weird, sometimes, but so is Hanna.

"I got to meet you, Hanna. That was not long before I started working on your case."

Hanna's breath catches, hands tightening reflexively. Um, good to look on the bright side, he supposes? I'm super glad you almost died and were probably traumatized and also scarred for life, because it means that you're in my life now? How selfish and gross and fucked up is that?

But Jayne says it for him. "So in a way, I'm glad." Then he leans over and kisses Hanna, very gently, and tucks his chin over Hanna's head.

Hanna's too shocked to notice that it was delivered in a sort of sleepy mumble, and by the time he pulls himself together enough to think of a reply the steady rise and fall under his cheek has become completely regular, and Jayne really has gone to sleep.

Hanna tightens his hold on Jayne a little, burrows into his chest a little more. It's a long time before his mind slows down enough for sleep, but at the back of the noise he can't deny the lurking thought:

 _Me too._


End file.
